


A Bad Situation For Both of Us- First Draft.

by Milomus2



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milomus2/pseuds/Milomus2
Summary: Agent 3's had a rough recovery after her role in the Squidbeak Splatoon around 2 years ago. And now she had been signed up, against her knowing, to foster an Octoling as part of some rehabilitation program.To be honest, no one is happy with this situation.(Written before the Octo expansion, started over with some changes in light of the expansion. New work can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722891/chapters/39223674 )





	1. A Traumatic Meeting

Like any other day at any other time, the sun rose over Inkopolis, casting light and shadow over the cityscape. Taggers who had too much fun the night before ran for their homes, the professional turf war players conceded the stages to those less experienced, and Agent 3 lie in her bed, contemplating whether or not the decision to get up was really worth it.

When the laptop across the room of her small apartment (Why did she have to live so close to the turf wars? She hardly went these days…) pinged with a new message, she sighed, and decided that she would have to get up and answer. She practically rolled out of bed, feet and hands hitting the ground before she fell so she could at least say she CRAWLED out of bed if asked. After a round of thinking maybe she should head back to bed and say she slept in (most squids do) she found she was already at the computer. With a sigh, she placed a hand on the cursor and shifted to the tab with the message on it.

It was from the captain. She winced as she read that, a message from him usually meant either a new mission, a cringy request to hang out, or some other oddball antics. Agent 3 was never fond of any of those. But, to ignore the message now would be rude. She resigned herself and opened it up.

“Hello, Agent! It’s your favorite cuttlefish, here with a new mission for you. Well, sort of a mission. As I’m sure you’re aware, things have settled somewhat between inklings and octolings these past two years! Why, a duo of the two is rising up the ranks of fame and fortune. A beautiful thing. Reminds me of myself and Octavio, before things got nasty in the war. 

Regardless, there’s some concerns about the poor Octoling soldiers, brought up with only the military in mind and thus with little to no real-world skills. I took the liberty of signing you and Agent 4 up to host some while they rehabilitate, and ah, it seems you two were lucky enough to be chosen. You’ll be getting a message soon about that, with details about where to meet them and a brief rundown on what to expect.”

Oh boy. She guessed she’d have to see what she could do to back out of this. The captain was well-intentioned, but he did have a tendency to pull her into things without asking. It seemed there was a bit more though. After the oblivious nature of the first portion of the message, she was reluctant to carry on, but then, she wasn’t doing anything better.

“I know this looks like another naive blunder on my part, but it’s not only the octoling who needs to re-adjust, Agent. I’ve been worried about you, the other agents say you haven’t been returning their messages much and Agent 4 in particular is concerned that you haven’t been leaving the house much. It was actually their idea to sign you up for this after I told them about the program. Call it an intervention, but I know what it can be like to have been a soldier and now find yourself in peace, but not at peace with yourself. Give this a chance. I think it’ll be good for you. Captain Cuttlefish, Over.”

She stared at the message for a little longer, taking it in. She… did suppose she’d hardly left the apartment these past few days. But... she’d gone to the store for some groceries, and she went to… what, two turf wars the other day? That had to count for something. She had sorta been avoiding the other agents maybe. But she really just didn’t want to talk to anyone these days. For the captain’s sake though, she decided, she would… room with her enemy. 

Oh gosh, she had been signed up to share a room with an octoling. 

That bit was only now sinking in. She’d shot octolings with the intent to kill, sorta a big deal when such intent can affect the acidity of one’s ink. 

She’d destroyed their machines and countless footsoldiers. 

Two years ago, she was the one-squid army against the octolings, and so all the violence of that episode had fallen on her hadn’t it? And now she’d share a room with an octoling. And…

Deep breaths. She was pretty sure that that’s the thing to do when you freak out, and she was fairly certain she was on her way to a panic attack or something. Reluctantly, she decided it was time to get ready for the day. Mainly just since it sounded like she was gonna need to look presentable, and not like a mess. Lime seemed like a good color for the day, so she went with that for her hair. Clothingwise… The down jacket from the hero outfit ought to be good for the day, there had been a chill as of late. As long as she was looking more colorful than she really felt, she may as well put on some Cyan trainers for now, and for her head… Just some old headphones would be good. As soon as she was done, there was a knock on the door.

Who could that be? She stopped at her laptop on the way to the door, there wasn’t a new message about where to meet the octoling she’d be hosting, so it wasn’t that. Maybe it was one of the agents?

She felt an odd sense of foreboding as she reached for the door. Not unlike how she felt following cuttlefish through the sewers that one time…

The door opened, and… there was an elite octoling staring her right in the face. She was dressed in a loose, grey tank top with similarly grey shorts, some plain slip ons, and the seaweed denoting her status was used to tie her tentacles to a pony-tail of sorts in the back.

She spoke, confidently and bluntly. “I’m Crescendi. The organization was taking too long deciding where we’d meet since apparently there’s some concern about your or my mental health. I said that’s bullsquit and came by. What’s your name?”

“Um. I’m Amber.” Squit. No one told her this was an elite.She was remembering things she’d rather not now. Was she really equipped to handle this? She remembered her hero armor protecting her from enemy fire, faceless octolings gunning her down. Crescendi was saying something. She responded with equal force. They don’t scream, they never did, though she knew she must have been hurting them with acidic ink. Someone was leading her somewhere, giving her a seat and asking her to breath, to focus on now. To her, now was war, now was hiding from the enemy, now was- music? Now was music. Someone was playing music. Was that the Squid Sisters?

She was sitting on her bed. Crescendi was on Amber’s laptop, looking somewhat concerned. “You feeling better now?” Amber took a moment to assess herself. “I think so.” Crescendi was clearly somewhat relieved by the response. “Good. I know some of the gals in my splatoon could get panicky, but I’ve never seen something that bad. Nice to know music still helps.”

There was a silence between the two of them, in spite of the music playing.

Crescendi broke the silence. “I guess I shoulda waited for them to figure out a meeting spot huh.” She spoke softer now, but with about the same confidence as her introduction. “With all respect due to my host, you’re a mess.”

Amber couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Maybe. Can’t say I noticed before today.” She sighed. “Though I suppose I haven’t held a conversation as long as this one for a while.”

The octoling stared at her a moment. “So. You have some manner of trauma and probably also depression. And as I understand it, you were signed up to host an old enemy without your knowing. And as fate would have it, they gave one of the best octolings to one of the best inklings.” She cracked a smile, but her eyes seemed to be more nervous. “Sounds like a bad situation for the both of us, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is one of my first works, so constructive criticism would be nice. If you have anything to say, please do!


	2. Retrieval And Beginnings

The two sat in silence as they processed the situation. Amber was the first to speak up. “Wait, shouldn’t you have some luggage?”

Crescendi nodded. “Yeah, it’s back with the hosting program guys. I should probably get that back from them.” With that said, she got up. “You should come along. We can clear up the whole ‘we’ve met’ thing with them. So they don’t have to arrange a meeting or anything.” She had made her way over to the door, making it clear that she intended to leave ASAP. “Anything you need before we head out?”

Taking into account that the octoling wanted to get going, Amber just grabbed her wallet, especially seeing as she was already dressed. She paused by the door, realizing she sorta didn’t want to leave the apartment. “Can’t you go on your own? It’s not like they wouldn’t believe you if you told them we’d had our meeting.”

Crescendi looked at her feet, suddenly hesitant. After a brief pause, she admitted, “I… have a hard time talking with people most of the time.” Amber opened her mouth to ask a question, but Crescendi answered it immediately. “Yes, I talked to you with little issue. But in this case, I mean, you hardly got through introductions before having a flashback or some panic attack. It’s not so hard to talk when I’m trying to help, and after something like that, it’s a bit easier to talk to you. The guys down at the program though? I think I’ve said maybe 5 words to them.”

Amber took a moment to take all that in. She started leading the way out the door, with only one question after all that. “How’d you manage to introduce yourself? You seemed fairly confident then.”

Crescendi shrugged, as she followed Amber out. “I practiced that the whole way here.”

The octoling led the way to the building the program was being hosted in, the walk there being an awkward mix of silence, small talk, and Amber answering questions about local landmarks. Aforementioned building was a ways away from Booyah Base, not far from the plaza events were held at so frequently only a couple years before. It was a plain building, the only thing really setting it apart being that it was the approximate size of a gymnasium, and had a sign labeled “OCTO-HAB: OCTOLING PEACEFUL REINTEGRATION PROGRAM.” Crescendi couldn’t help pausing to stare at some tagger’s idea of a joke, an octarian with its eyes crossed saying something violent in handwriting she doubted she could read even if she could read inklish well.

Crescendi pointed it out to Amber. “You inklings do know that the octarians aren’t sentient, right?”

Amber tilted her head. The sea scrolls she’d found seemed to show them speaking and being portrayed as sentient beings, but then… they really did seem to be placed in somewhat disposable positions. She always felt the least… terrible about their deaths. “Really? What are they then?”

Crescendi stifled a laugh. “Wow, you don’t know. They’re just little minion things. Certain octolings, either adults or teens with unusually large tentacles, can cut off the ends of their tentacles and make them. Usually they’re meant for a single task if a teen makes one, though they have enough brain power to collaborate if need be. Adults can make messengers and representatives if they’re looking for something thinking, and a lot of them do for the sake of press conferences.” She shrugged. “I could go into detail about how since they make up the media and run most of our tech, they tend to be used in most diagrams and informational stuff, but we need to get my stuff.”

It struck Amber as a bit of a shame that Crescendi of all people would have a hard time talking to strangers, given how much she COULD talk. Setting the thought aside however, she led the way into the building, Crescendi now silently tagging along. The interior proved to be a bit of a labyrinth, desks of papers sandwiched between a bunch of small dormitory-looking rooms that looked hastily set up. After getting some directions, the duo managed to find their way to a desk, right next to a closet. The inkling sitting behind the desk looked up at them, took a deliberately long drink from a cup of coffee, and stared at them for a moment.

Amber took his silence as an invitation to speak. “Um, I’m here about Crescendi’s belongings?” 

The inkling sighed. “No, you’re not allowed to sell them without the octoling’s consent, even given current property laws.”

Amber wasn’t quite sure what the laws had to do with anything, but pressed on. “No, I mean, she didn’t have hers with her.”

The inkling knit his brow. “Sure she had any? The octoling is supposed to have their belongings on them when we send them for the meeting.” 

Amber shook her head. “We didn’t have a formal meeting, she got tired of waiting and went to my home directly.”

The inkling stared at Crescendi for a moment. “Bold move. I’m gonna need her Squad ID though, that’s what most of this stuff is labeled under.”

Before Amber could ask what an ID code was, Crescendi recited one, hands wrapped in fists as she said it. “C, octave 27.”

The inkling got up. “C, huh? Hope you’re good in a fight squiddo, most octos under C can be pretty dangerous.” At that statement, Crescendi tensed up. The inkling shrugged the moment off, and went into the closet. With nothing else to do in the awkward wait, Amber just sorta… gave Crescendi a pat on the back. This did allow her to loosen up a bit, though Crescendi couldn’t really tell if it was out of confusion or trust that it helped.

Eventually, the desk inkling returned with a suitcase, grey like the clothes Crescendi was wearing (Amber had come to the conclusion they were likely supplied by the program, as the other octolings she’d seen wandering the place were dressed similarly.) and handed it over, along with a pouch labeled “starting funds” which contained a meager 100g.

The two of them made their way out of the building, and once out, Crescendi checked the pouch again. “Okay what the hell. What am I supposed to do with 100g? That can’t buy anything.”

Amber thought about it. “I mean, it’ll buy a Splattershot Jr. Most inklings get started in the turf wars with just that and their basic clothing. Maybe they expect me to pay for your stuff for now, and let you pay me back when you’ve made enough money in turf war? Seems a bit mean for a reintegration program to throw octolings into turf war, but it is how most squids make money while we’re still teens anyways.”

Crescendi put the pouch in the suitcase. “I wish they’d at least supplied better clothing. As I understand it fashion’s sorta a big deal, and grey exercise wear isn’t exactly fashion.”

Amber started leading the way back home. “I might be able to buy you some stuff, but probably we can start with you just borrowing my old starter gear. I might even have my old Jr. so you can save some money on that.”

Crescendi’s hair-tentacles started to curl up a bit more than usual. “You’d lend me your stuff?”

Amber gave a smile and a shrug. “Sure. I’m certainly not wearing the stuff right now, and even I had more than 100 to start. We’ll talk about it a bit more when we get back.”

The duo walked back to the apartment, conversation much more alive between them as Crescendi asked questions about turf war. Once they reached the apartment, Crescendi set down her luggage and Amber opened her closet. She wiped the dust off the old Splattershot Jr., briefly remembering the first time she saw Cuttlefish on her way to the turf wars. She placed it on her bed, and set down an old headband, shirt, and pair of shoes next to it. The stuff she had first walked into turf war with. “I hope all this fits. The headband ought to stretch at least. But hey, at least it can’t be said that I can’t make something good of a bad situation?”

Crescendi couldn’t help a smirk at the reference to her own assessment of the situation earlier. “I suppose not.” She held the bulky, plastic gun. “Maybe things won’t even be too bad. Whatever happens though, I think I might be looking forward to it for once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey! Sorry this didn't update after this. I ended up getting more than a little worried about the Octo Expansion and what it might do to the story, and this ended up dropping off. I did come back to this in light of the Expansion though, with a bit of a reset. Names are still the same, and there's definitely some similar stuff to this, but I admit it's probably going to be pretty different. You can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722891/chapters/39223674 )


End file.
